Clambake Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy - Book 2 (2 page)

Becca
spent a quiet evening at home after her long day, and couldn’t quite get the
thoughts of vandals out of her head. She double-checked every door and window,
making certain that each was closed and locked, and tried in vain to pay
attention to a movie on Netflix. Eventually giving up, she poured herself a
glass of wine and went upstairs to run a nice hot bath. Poppy slipped silently
up the stairs behind her and curled into a contented ball on the bath mat.
Pushing a button on the remote control, Becca turned on the stereo that rested
on top of a “shabby chic” antique tea cart, and the room filled with the
soothing sounds of smooth jazz.

She
was determined to try to put the incident from the afternoon out of her mind,
and had almost succeeded, when Poppy suddenly raised her head, her ears
twitching toward the bathroom window. She leaped up from her comfortable spot
on the bath mat, jumped on top of the vanity and used it as a launchpad to land
gently on the window sill, where she sat, tail twitching, hackles raised,
staring into the darkness. Becca knew that there were no imminent safety risks
– the window was locked, and the master bath was on the second floor anyway,
but Poppy’s unusual behavior had her spooked. The taciturn feline who typically
considered most people and events beneath her notice was on full alert,
growling low in her throat.

Becca
stepped gingerly from the tub, taking care not to slip on the hexagonal mosaic
tile floor, and wrapped her fluffy white robe around herself before going to
the window. The combination of light inside and darkness outside made it
difficult, at best, to see anything, but when she followed Poppy’s gaze to the
fence that separated her yard from Sally’s, she could’ve sworn that she saw a
dark figure dart into the shadows. Heart in her throat, she stroked her
agitated companion, hoping to soothe her, but fully realizing that the
perceptive animal was surely picking up on the fear coming off of her in waves.
She thought about calling Sally, but didn’t want to wake and then scare the
elderly woman when she didn’t quite know what she had seen, if anything. She
could call Lance Reynolds, but really felt that it was inappropriate to bother
the detective every time she got a little freaked out because her cat was
acting weird. Becca stood, peering out the window with Poppy at her side, only
turning away when the cat seemed to grow bored and hopped down as though
nothing had happened. Not knowing what to do, and not feeling like she was in
imminent danger, she decided to go to bed and figure out what to do in the
morning. Feeling like she was being obsessive, but too disturbed to care, she
rechecked all of the doors and windows, moving through the darkened bungalow
slowly, listening for unusual noises.

Morning
dawned sunny and bright, making a mockery of Becca’s nearly sleepless night.
She had tossed and turned for hours before finally dropping off into a fitful
and broken sleep, waking with a dull headache. She decided to forego her
morning workout, and was in the process of fixing a light breakfast when her
doorbell rang.

“Hubert,
what a surprise!” she exclaimed when she saw her down and out neighbor from
across the street on her doorstep. “I was just fixing some coffee, would you
like a cup?”

“That’d
be nice,” the thin man in his mid-50’s said with a smile that seemed wistful.

“Well,
come on in,” Becca invited, heading for her breakfast nook and indicating a
chair. “Have a seat.” She turned back to the kitchen to grab two mugs, and
brought the steaming mugs to the table, turning off her skillet on the way by.

“I
don’t want to intrude, if you’re fixin your breakfast and all,” Hubert said,
self-conscious.

“It’s
not an intrusion at all,” Becca assured him. “I haven’t seen you in forever.
How have you been?”

“Pretty
good I guess,” he shrugged listlessly. “S’pose you know that I’ve agreed to
sell my house.”

“Yes,
I’d heard that,” she nodded, sipping her coffee. “Seems a shame,” she couldn’t
help adding.

“It
is what it is,” Hubert grimaced. Becca noticed the leathery lines of his face.
Hubert Finch was as “old New England salt-of-the-earth” as anyone could be, and
it hurt to see him looking defeated, beaten.

“What
will you do?” she asked softly.

“New
start,” he grunted. “Gonna get as far away from tourists and nonsense as I can
get.” He turned his mug round and round in his hands, finished the last dregs
in one gulp and set it down firmly on the table. “What about you? You gonna
sell?” he asked, not meeting her gaze.

“No.
Definitely not. This is the first house that’s ever been truly just mine. I
worked hard to get it, I work hard to take care of it, and it’s exactly perfect
for me. The beach is my front yard – why would I ever even consider leaving
something like that?” Becca shook her head vehemently.

“From
what I hear, there’s a lotta money on the table,” Hubert said casually.

“Maybe
so, but there are things that are way more important than money.”

“Must
be nice to have enough money to think that way,” he drawled, a touch bitter.
“Well,” he stood abruptly, “don’t wanna overstay my welcome.” Turning to go, he
looked at Becca sadly. “You have a nice day.” He raised a hand in farewell and
then he was gone, leaving her to wonder why he had come by in the first place,
and left so quickly. Shrugging it off as simple eccentricity, she turned the
skillet back on and went about fixing her breakfast. Still sleepy and feeling
more than a bit lethargic, Becca ate most of her small meal, scraping the
scraps into the disposal. After putting her dishes in the dishwasher and wiping
down the counters, she grabbed her purse and went to the back door to head to
work. Her hand was on the doorknob to leave, when she heard her doorbell again.
Sighing, she thought about ignoring it and just getting in her car, but the way
her driveway was situated, whoever was at the door would see her backing out,
so, not wanting to be rude, she went to answer it.

“Becca,
sweetie, have you read your mail from yesterday?” Sally Case stood on the porch
waving an official-looking letter.

Alarmed
at the gentle woman’s agitated state, Becca stepped out onto the porch and
shook her head. “No, why?”

“Those
hooligans from Foster Development are going to try to get the City Council to
take our homes away, that’s why!” she fretted.

“May
I see?” she reached for the letter, accepting it from her neighbor’s trembling
hand.

She
read through the document, making certain to maintain a neutral look on her
face so as not to scare Sally any further.

The
old woman couldn’t stand it any longer, and when Becca was over halfway through
demanded, “Well, what do you make of it?”

She
handed the letter back, shaking her head. “I’m not sure, but I’ll call the City
today, and let you know what I found out. In the meantime, I want you to
promise that you won’t let this worry you, okay? They can’t just make us move,
that’s not how this sort of thing works. I’ll find out what’s going on and let
you know,” Becca patted Sally’s arm reassuringly.

“Well,
okay,” she agreed uncertainly. “But I’ll tell you something, if they try to
take my home, they’re going to have quite the fight on their hands!” The tough
talk out of the sweet elderly woman made Becca smile, despite the circumstances.

“That’s
the spirit,” she said as she stepped back into the house. She checked her own
mail, and sure enough, there was a letter from the City for her as well. There
was to be a hearing in two days on a proposal made by Foster Development Corp.
to have a huge area of Cape Cranston rezoned for commercial and multi-family
use, which of course included her property and Sally’s.

It
took Becca several tries to locate an actual human being with whom she could
speak on the phone regarding Cape Cranston zoning laws and procedures. The
bored and seemingly annoyed woman on the line told her that the hearing would
determine whether the zoning changes requested by Foster Development should be
approved. When she asked the clerk what the chances of approval were, she could
practically hear the woman shrugging. She said that chances were slight, but
that anything could happen, particularly given the generous pricing that Foster
had offered to the city for construction of a new City Hall and Court House.
Becca’s heart sunk. This type of political manipulation was way out of her
league and she wondered if she should seek advice from an attorney. When she
posed that question to the woman on the other end of the phone, the response
was that she was not allowed to make recommendations regarding legal action.
Becca hung up as cordially as she could, deeply troubled.

“So
what
are
you going to do?” Katie worried, sitting across the desk from
her boss and best friend.

“I
have a few ideas, actually,” Becca replied, with a look of determination. “Will
you please get me the numbers for the Historical Preservation Society, the Cape
Cranston Conservation Alliance, the Senior Citizen’s Rights Guild, and any
other organizations that you can think of who would have an interest in
preventing Foster Development from turning our peaceful town into a sordid
tourist trap?”

Katie
smiled slyly. “I see where you’re going with this. Fighting fire with fire so
to speak?”

“Exactly.”
Becca set her jaw. She intended to fight Foster as hard as she had to, not just
for her own benefit, but for Sally, her other neighbors, and the town that she
had grown to love. “Can you take care of my calls this morning?” she asked.

“Actually,
I can’t, I have to run out and set up the Crestwood’s clambake, but I’ll have
Phoebe, our new server, cover the phones and take messages while I’m gone. I
shouldn’t be gone too long. The pits are already dug and heated, we just need
to put the pots in and bury them. Julio and his crew will take care of it, I
just wanted to be on site to make sure everything was perfect.”

“As
usual,” Becca grinned, loving her “Type-A” Catering Manager.

“I’ll
get you those numbers before I go,” Katie promised on her way out of the
office.

“You’re
a doll,” her friend replied, meaning it.

**

Katie
manned the phones and conducted meetings for Becca while her boss called every
organization in the city that might be able to aid in her cause. A petition and
a website were started by one of the groups to drum up support, and volunteers
from multiple organizations pledged their assistance in raising awareness and
getting members of the community involved. They only had two days, but the
mobilized quickly, and Becca was touched by the immediate support and action of
the various groups. She had just hung up the phone, smiling, after a very
positive conversation with a council member when Katie came bursting into her
office, not even bothering to knock.

“Becca,
this is a disaster!” her friend wailed, clearly distraught.

“What
happened?” she stood, frowning with concern and fear.

“Julio
just called me from the Crestwood clambake site…everything is gone!”

“Gone?
What do you mean? What’s gone?” she asked, confused.

“Every
one of the clambake pits was dug up, the food inside was thrown all over the
site, and all of our pots and pans were gone. What are we supposed to do? The
Crestwoods will be there in two hours for their event?”

Becca
was calculating the losses in her head as Katie spoke. Thousands of dollars of
fresh seafood, including lobster, crab, clams, and shrimp, plus multiples of
high quality commercial cookware. This was truly a disaster, and she didn’t
have the luxury of wondering about the how and why of it all – it was time for
damage control, and she sprang into action.

“Call
in every bit of kitchen and serving help that we have,” she ordered. “Tell them
to bring their pots and pans from home if we need to. You and Julio take
inventory of what’s in our pantry, then hit the markets to supplement it with
new, fresh seafood and produce. Tell Julio to select items that can be prepared
and delivered within the two hour time frame, even if we have to hold them off
with free hors d’oeuvres until we can get the entrée items done. Remember, it’s
a buffet, so get generous quantities, we’ll worry about cost later. I want
every staff member on site for the event to make certain that we give the best
service they’ve ever seen. I’ll call Mrs. Crestwood and let her know what’s
going on.”

Becca
picked up the phone to call her client as Katie exclaimed, “I’m on it!” and
hurried out.

After
a grueling conversation with her extremely upset client, Becca hung up, took a
deep breath and headed for the door. Locking up the office, she rushed to the
clambake sight to brief her staff. They cleaned up the ruined remains of the
wasted feast, Becca blinking away tears, and readied the site so that when
Julio and Katie arrived in the prep truck, the staff was ready to spring into
action. Miraculously, a sumptuous feast was prepared and ready just in time for
the Crestwood family and their guests, and the event went off without a hitch.
Becca stayed the entire time, working just as hard as her staff to make the
event a success. Mrs. Crestwood was still angry that her clambake didn’t
happen, but had to admit that the food supplied had been spectacular. The only
dark moment that she had was when the matriarch firmly refused to pay the full
amount of her bill. Arguing with her would only serve to generate less than
positive reviews, so Becca conceded, settling for half the original amount of
the contract. It would hurt financially, and it rankled that she had to pay for
something that hadn’t been her own fault, but she was almost positive that her
insurance would cover most of the expenses. She left after settling the bill,
and was almost home when her cell phone rang. Seeing Katie’s number, she picked
it up.

“Becca,
I’m at the office. You need to get down here right away.”

The
sight that greeted Becca when she dashed in the back entrance of her catering
center was appalling. The freezer and refrigerator doors were wide open, their
contents scattered throughout the normally spotless kitchen. The smell was
horrific, and the crew had donned rubber gloves and formed teams to collect the
ruined food in large plastic trash bags. Katie ran to her friend and throwing
her arms around the stunned woman, burst into tears.

“What
is happening, Becca?” she wailed. “First the clambake, now this – what’s going
on?”

The
stunned woman shook her head in disbelief. “I have no idea, Katie. But I’m
certainly going to find out.” She hugged her friend hard, then held her at arms
length. “We’re going to get through this. You keep this process going, I’m
going to go make a phone call and I’ll be right back to help.”

Her
best friend was nothing if not a trooper. She wiped her eyes, squared her
shoulders and nodded, stepping back into the fray as soon as Becca turned to
go.

Detective
Lance Reynolds and his cold-fish partner Chester Gramble showed up within
minutes of her call, followed closely by two squad cars. Becca related the
events of the day, beginning with the ruined clambake and ending with showing
them the ruins of her normally immaculate kitchen.

“Well,
this makes me think that the damage done to your gardens yesterday might have
been a deliberate act rather than a random one,” Reynolds admitted, flipping
back through his notes from the previous day.

“Who
could possibly be doing these horrible things?” Becca asked, worried.

“Surely
you must have some insight into that,” Gramble studied her suspiciously over
the top of his glasses.

“No,
actually, Detective, I don’t…that’s why I called you,” she shot back, refusing
to be intimidated by the perpetually surly man.

“What
about Foster Development?” Reynolds jumped in.

“Well,
I know they’re not happy with me,” Becca admitted, “but honestly, the man who
came to see me was certainly not the type to dig up gardens and throw food
around. Besides, why would they risk it? Surely they have other projects going
on.” She told them about the information that she had wrangled out of the
less-than-helpful clerk at City Hall, and that her response had been to start a
grass-roots movement to have Foster’s request denied.

“So
you’re almost certainly on their radar at this point,” Detective Reynolds
mused. “Are you planning on attending the hearing?”

Becca
nodded. “Yes, I’ll be making a statement.”

“Does
anyone else know that?”

“Yes,
everyone who wants to participate has to indicate their interest in advance. On
our side of the issue we have over 70 people who are willing to speak out
against the hotel and condo project and commercial zoning that goes along with
it. We plan to pack the conference room with as many of our supporters as will
fit.”

The
detectives exchanged a look.

“Sometimes
when people get in over their heads, they end up getting more than they
bargained for,” Gramble muttered with a grimace.

“Well,
I’m sorry if you feel that trying my best to save my home and those of my
neighbors is ‘getting in over my head,’ but I refuse to sit back and become the
victim of a money-hungry corporation that doesn’t give a damn about this town
or the people in it!” Becca fumed, no longer willing to put up with Gramble’s
dour attitude. It seemed that he had never reconciled the fact that she had
been cleared as a murder suspect, with the real killers sitting in jail, and as
a result, still treated her with suspicion. She was sick of being treated
rudely, and had no qualms about showing that she no longer felt intimidated by
the insufferable man.

“No
one is suggesting that any of this is your fault Ms. Rogers,” Reynolds said,
shooting Gramble a look. “We’re just trying to cover all bases and gather any
pertinent information. Have you been home at all today?” he asked, striking
fear in Becca’s heart as she thought about Poppy being all alone in the house.

“Not
since this morning,” she half-whispered.

“When
you’re ready to leave here tonight, I’d be happy to have a patrol car escort
you home so that an officer can do a safety check if you’d like,” the handsome
detective offered.

Becca
nodded numbly, wondering how and why her life had spun out of control, and what
exactly she was supposed to do about it.

Gramble
interrupted her thoughts with a question. “Have you heard from your ex-husband
lately?”

“No,
not since he moved, right after the murder.” Her ex had been cleared as a
suspect in his new wife’s murder, and he had closed his business, leaving town
shortly after the real killers were prosecuted and jailed.

“Any
bad blood there?” the grizzled detective persisted.

She
shook her head. “No, he knew that I hadn’t tried to implicate him in any way
when you were
mistakenly
investigating me.” She gave him a pointed look.

Detective
Lance Reynolds looked puzzled and frustrated as he closed his notebook and
addressed her. “I think we’re done for now, if you’d like to head home. I’ve
asked your team to not touch anything until we’ve taken a look, but my guys are
just finishing up, so it shouldn’t be too long until they’re able to get back
to cleaning the mess.”

“I’m
going to stay here to help my staff. It wouldn’t be right for me to leave,” she
murmured, overwhelmed.

“Then
I’ll make certain that a squad car stays around until you’re ready to go,” he
promised. She nodded and the two men turned to leave.